She Comes to Me
by KekahJ
Summary: She's not mine to begin with, but she comes to me. A one-shot I wrote on the spur of the moment to practice first person point of view and present tense writing. Maybe a little dark (for me). References to abuse and violence, but nothing graphic.


**A/N: So, I wrote this today. I have no idea where it came from, I just sat down and started writing. I don't do a lot of first person point of view, or present tense writing, so I mainly wanted to practice that.**

**I will warn you it's a little dark. There are references made to abuse and violence, but nothing is graphic. I hope you like it. :)**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

She Comes To Me

She comes to me. Broken, battered, bruised. I never know when, but some days I find her sitting on my doorstep, that same haunted look in her eyes as she stares at me.

I take her inside, and I tremble with impotent rage as I see the marks and bruises that mar her perfect skin. I yell and rage about how I can't believe she lets him do this to her, but she just looks away. Immediately I feel guilty, and I cross the room to her in quick strides. My trembling fingers ghost over each bruise and scar, and we cry together. I beg her to do something, to let me do something, but she just shakes her head.

She takes my face in her hands and pleads with her eyes for me to change the subject. I can't stand the pain I see there, so I relent, wrapping her in my arms and reveling in the feel of her against my skin, even if she's only temporary.

I never know how long she'll stay. Sometimes she stays for days, and it feels like we're almost normal. We have breakfast together, sharing the paper as we dunk toast in our coffee. She looks up over the edge of her part of the paper and smiles at me, and my heart breaks as I smile back, because I know it won't last.

Sure enough, I inevitably wake to find her gone, the only sign that she's ever really been there the lingering scent of her that clings to my sheets. Now that she's gone, I'm free to yell and rage and I do. I stomp around my apartment, cursing him for treating her the way he does, cursing her for letting him, and cursing myself for not doing anything about it.

I lose track of how long this goes on for. Soon, I find myself living only for the next time she'll appear in my life. I'll take whatever part of her I can get, but I'm conflicted, because I know that when she does show up again, it's only because things have gotten so bad with him she had to flee.

Frustrated, I try to end it a few times, but I just can't seem to tell her. Somehow, I know I'm the only stable thing she has in her life, and I can't bring myself to pull away from her. So, I resign myself to be there for her, whenever she needs me, and in whatever way I can.

It's early October when she shows up one night. I work a late shift, and stop to get a few groceries. By the time I'm driving home, it's pouring rain. The air is chilly, and I pull my jacket around me a little tighter as I make my way from the parking garage, up the stairs, and down the hall toward my apartment. I'm distracted, so I don't see her right away. But when I do, my heart stops.

Her face is a mask of bruises. Her right eye is a mere slit. My fists clench as my eyes travel down the rest of her. Her arm is in a sling. Puzzled, I look back up at her face, and I realize that her bruises don't look as fresh as they normally do. Some of them are already starting to get that sickening greenish tinge around the outsides.

"You didn't come straight here," I say, and it's not a question.

She shakes her head. "Broke my arm," she says, attempting to lift her arm from her side. The action causes her pain, and she winces slightly. "But he drove me to the emergency room." She shrugs and sort of half smiles, as if this is all somehow humorous.

"Are you kidding me?" My voice is low, and I see a flash of fear in her eyes. I feel sick as I imagine that that's the look she gives him. I never want to be the recipient of that look. I take a deep breath. "Come on. Are you hungry?"

She shakes her head, but follows me inside. I set the groceries down before turning to her.

"Come here," I whisper.

She smiles and sort of shuffles toward me, and I do my best to wrap her gently in my arms. It's hard, because I don't know where to touch her without hurting her.

She sighs in contentment as she rests her cheek against my chest.

"Do you want to take a bath?" I ask, and she nods. I kiss her softly on the forehead and then head to the bathroom to run the tub for her. I debate about putting bubble bath in the water, unsure of how it will react with her injuries. I step back into the bedroom to ask her.

My breath catches, and my blood runs cold when I see her. She's slipped out of her clothes, and the purple of her face extends down her chest and stomach and legs until she's nothing more than a landscape of purple and green bruises. She drops her eyes to the floor when she sees me looking. I take a moment to gather myself before I speak.

"Do you want bubble bath?" I ask finally.

She shakes her head, and I notice now as she's walking toward me that she's limping.

"Your foot?" I ask as if I'm inquiring about the weather. It all feels so wrong and forced, and I have a hard time hearing her answer over the pounding in my ears.

She mumbles something about not getting out of the way fast enough, and I know I'm going to throw up soon. I say nothing and help her into the tub. Her face is a mixture of pain and relief as she settles below the water, keeping the plaster cast on her arm above the water. She rests her head against the back of the tub and closes her eyes. I study her face. Even covered with bruises and cuts, she's beautiful. My heart hurts, and I wonder how much more I can take.

After a moment, she opens one eye to look at me. "Do you have any wine?" she asks.

I shake my head. "No, I'm out. Do you want me to get some?"

I know her answer even before she shakes her head. She'd never ask me to do anything on her behalf. She'd never want to inconvenience me. For some reason, this makes me irrationally angry.

"No, it's fine. I'll go pick some up. I could use some too, actually."

She protests a little more, but I shoot her down. I make sure she doesn't need anything while I'm gone, and bend over to kiss her cheek before I go. I hover over her, unsure of where to kiss her and not inflict more pain. She smiles and turns her lips toward me. I grin and am about to kiss her when I notice something. Gently, I grab her chin.

"You're missing a tooth," I say as calmly as I can. If it's possible, she blushes underneath her bruises and tries to turn away. If she says anything, I don't hear her. The pounding in my ears is back. Calmly, and without another word to her, I straighten and leave the bathroom. I make one stop in my bedroom before grabbing my keys and shutting the door to my apartment behind me.

I drive to the all night liquor store and purchase four bottles of mid-priced wine. I suddenly can't remember if she likes white or red, so I buy two of each. I'm back in the car and I'm heading down a street I've only been down once before. I'm surprised at myself and my ability to quickly find the right house. I reach into the glove box before shutting the car door quietly. A quick glance up and down the street tells me that I'm alone.

There are lights on inside, and I can't help but notice the flowers lining the walkway to the front door. In the back of my mind, I wonder if she planted them. I knock softly on the door, and am about to knock again when it's abruptly opened.

Before I fully realize what's happening, he's standing there looking me up and down, contempt on his face. His blond hair is stringy and dirty, and he's clutching a beer in one hand. The only light comes from the flickering television behind him. If he recognizes me, he shows no sign. But why would he? We've only met one other time, and under very different circumstances. I wonder if he wonders where she is right now. Where does he think that she goes when she comes to me?

The sound is loud in the darkness, louder than I anticipated. Three quick bangs. His look of contempt turns to a look of surprise as he looks down at his belly. We both watch for a moment as the dark stain grows and spreads. In the semi-darkness, it's black, but I wonder how red it would be in better light. He stumbles once, stretching out his arm, almost as if he's reaching for me. I deftly step out of the way, and he starts to fall. And now it's as if my body is moving on its own without any sort of cues from my brain. Somehow, I know to put my hand out and lightly touch his shirt, pushing him gently and redirecting his fall. Instead of falling across the threshold, he lands with a thump against the interior wall, and his head lolls to the side.

Using my jacket, I close the door and trot quickly down the steps. Again, I look around the deserted street. No one is looking, and I wonder how common of an occurrence shots in the middle of the night is around here.

Before I know it, I'm back in my car, driving toward home at a quick, but reasonable speed. I stop along the deserted riverfront and hurl the pistol into the water. It makes a satisfying plop, and I'm on my way again. The same parking space I pulled out of less than an hour ago is still available, and I slide my car into it. I grab the wine and climb out. Quickly, I check my appearance in the shiny chrome of the elevator doors. There is no trace of what I just did on me.

Inside, she's out of the tub. She's wearing a pair of my sweats, and her damp hair hangs down her back. The sight of her lounging on my couch calms me. What I did was worth it. It was for her. But I'm not sure how to tell her about it. I know we don't have a lot of time, but I don't want her to panic.

I pour us each a glass of wine and sit next to her on the couch. She smiles at me, and I take a deep breath.

"We have to go," I say simply.

She tilts her head at me. "Where?"

"I was thinking Mexico," I say, shrugging as I try to keep the conversation lighthearted.

She furrows her brow and I sigh. I realize there's no other choice but to just tell her. I take her face tenderly in my hands and I tell her everything. Her eyes are wild and she shakes her head, working to free herself from my gentle grasp.

"It's going to be fine, I promise. He's never going to hurt you again," I whisper.

But she's not soothed. She wretches herself away from me and stands on shaky legs.

"I have to go," she says, trembling from head to foot.

"I know. We're going to go. Let's just have some wine first. I think we'll be okay to wait until morning. Then we can pack and go…" I trail off when I realize that she's still shaking her head. "…Okay, do you want to go tonight?"

Her face twists and there are tears on her purple cheeks. "No, I can't. I mean, I'm going to go. I can't…"

My world is closing in on me. What is happening? Doesn't she realize what I've just done? Doesn't she realize what it means?

She's trembling as she hobbles around the room gathering up her things. I try to get her to wait, to listen, but as always, she's just like a startled foal. Soon she's gone, and I'm alone, reeling from what just happened.

I get no sleep that night. Every sound is her coming back to me, but she never does. Morning dawns, and I'm still alone. I have no way to call her, and now I'm afraid. She knows what I did. She was supposed to come with me, but she's gone.

I wait as long as I dare for her. Every night when I come home, I hope and pray that she'll be waiting on my doorstep, but she never is. I watch the news all the time, but in a city as big as this one, one death barely makes the news. There's a mention of a man found dead across town, but nothing more. I have no way of knowing what's happening, or how close I am to being caught.

I can't stand it anymore. I pack up my things and tender my resignation at work, making up some story about accepting a position with a sister company in another city half way across the country. I have no choice. I have to go. There's no way for me to even tell her where I'm going.

I wait two full days after I planned to go. But she still doesn't come. Finally, I realize she has no reason to come to me. I took care of her reason, and now she's free. She doesn't need me. She doesn't need to come to me anymore. She was never really mine to begin with.

I pack up the last of my belongings and lock the door to my apartment, leaving the key under the mat for the super.

I take one last look at my doorstep, imagining that I see her there, as I had so many times before when she'd come to me.

She'll never come to me again.

**A/N: I also don't do a lot of UN-HEAs, so yeah... I'd be honored if you'd leave me a review and let me know what you think since this is such a spur of the moment, getting out of my comfort zone kind of thing. :)**

**A million thanks to Lellabeth for looking this over for me and giving me some great suggestions! 3**


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